Robot Jones Revamped
by Witzels
Summary: There's a new student in Polyneux Middle School, but he's not like the other students. (Revisiting the RJ universe but taking a more realistic angle.)


**May 14, 1972  
JNZ Headquarters - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania**

A man fumbling with papers heard someone step into the conference room from behind him, but he shrugged it off. His mind was riddled with all of the data, code, and blueprints he'd finally put together after what felt like a lifetime. With every breath he took, and every paper he shuffled, the more beats his heart skipped.

He prayed that all would go well. One more failure, and he was out. He already began to sweat.

"Mr. Darvick?" the voice from behind called. It was more of a statement than a question…

"Yes?"

"Conference begins in five minutes. Have everything ready."

Shortly after, the door shut with a little click.

Jonathan scratched the stubble beginning to grow back around his jaw and neck. He'd been so immersed in his project, that shaving had been considered a time-wasting chore. He gathered three large, blue papers, and pinned them onto the board at the front of the room. He shuffled through his papers a bit more, sighing as he read over bits and pieces of the data he jotted down, which was, at one point, all in anticipation. But now he was just shattered by fear.

He'd already gone through this scenario more times than could be counted. Attempt after attempt, thrown away blueprint after thrown away blueprint before even any attempts at all. He looked back at his "final" designs. John would often switch between staring at the sketches and words on the blue papers and hastily organizing more dull, white sheets.

As soon as he felt some sort of relief, suited men began flooding the room. Some of them chatted quietly, and others kept entirely silent, staring holes into Jonathan's head. He forced a smile and waited for the voices to hush. Clearing his voice, and picking his papers back up, he began.

"Alright," he started. "So, I know my past presentations haven't been so steady, but this time, I guarantee, I've thoroughly gone through my work, and probably went through hundreds of these things. This time, however, I've come with a new idea – a _breakthrough,_ that will completely blow away the other organizations making AI."

Jonathan Darvick wasn't well known around here for being professional.

"Models JUN-77, KX-8, and KC-213 – That last one being the one I had the hardest time figuring out."

John went through his papers, explained the models' coding, statistics, possible budget, data and whatnot, but when he finished in his scatterbrained manner, he didn't realize he was missing out on a vital piece of information. So, a man from the back of the room cut in.

"Sir," he began, rubbing his thumbs together in thought, "what are their functions?"

Jonathan held his breath.

"Well, see, this is how we get to bringing ideas to life…" he tried to say with confidence, keeping his voice clear for everyone. The same man from the back raised his eyebrow. Jonathan sighed, just quiet enough for himself to hear. He couldn't be more unprofessional than he already was.

""Listen... We can go further than what we've been doing for years."

He paused.

For years, while other corporations stormed ahead of us, WE continued trapping AIs in appliances for, what do you know, "safety precautions", and occasionally sending full-bodied ones out for experimentation. But how well – how _close to humanity,_ would an AI become, if they were to be raised like a child, go to school..."

He stepped back towards the blueprints, sweat pooling at the back of his neck.

"It's just three prototypes. One of a kind, no others like them. An _experiment._ I'd like to know if anyone else in this room is interested in seeing this ball roll. If you are, please raise your hand, and I'll explain this further."

He rubbed the back of his neck, where all of the liquid latched onto the palm of his hand. 4 out of 25 people had their hands raised. He about fainted.

But then a few more hands went up. Some men chatted. Some asked him questions. More hands went up. But it still wasn't enough. One of the men near the front who kept his hands on his desk scowled.

"People simply don't agree with this, Mr. Darvick," he started in his old, gruff voice, "because it's too dangerous."

"Could you suggest some alternatives, Mr. Veyne?" the younger presenter asked – no aggression indicated, but he was visibly shaking – at least his digits were.

"KX-8 needs a more humanoid appearance if it's going to be around children – less intimidating. Less machine-like."

"Are we making other humans?"

"...No, sir."

"And my plan is to make more effective members of society by raising them like human beings. It's only three of them. An _experiment_. We have watched them from a safe distance for a long enough time, now. We need to take the next step."

Both men continued arguing in the most civilized manner possible. The more Jonathan argued with this man, the more he realized how little he understood about AI and thought he was a joke – and the more he realized he was putting himself further into the gutter of defeat.

"Then program them to be docile," the old man said. He sipped his coffee.

"AIs decide for themselves what they do. They grow on their own grass, Mr. Veyne. _You know this."_

"There, then," Mr. Veyne said, voice raising, but with a glint of smugness in his beady eyes. "Unsafe! They're unpredictable!"

"We're not sending them into the wild immediately," Mr. Darvick attempted to explain. "We'll watch them in the factory for the first few years and make sure they're safe to be around. Once they're mature enough and can watch themselves, we'll send them to their designated home."

"Mhm? And that is where?"

"Polyneux, Delaware. Average town. Not dangerous at all. It's a perfect place for them."

Hours seemed to tick by. Jonathan, by impulse, scratched his head, feeling his dark, damp hair. He watched the grumpy old man swallow with great effort, taking notes down as if he had all the time in the world. At last, he looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"Alright."

Again, John sighed, a little louder this time, even.

"Now who's with me?"

He swiftly counted all of the hands across the long table. 5 hands, 11 hands, 15 hands…

19 hands total. Including Mr. Veyne.

"Great," he said. "I'll have another meeting on Friday and we can take these plans further."

As the presentation took a close and he wrapped his materials up, it was only then that the realization came to him. He was keeping his position, he was going to earn possible respect, and finally, an idea he worked his ass off on was blasting off. And even that raisin of a higher up found something to agree with him on.

The man took the seat nearest to him. The chair felt soaked with sweat the moment he sat down.


End file.
